


Welcome to Rose Apothecary

by therapychicken



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, David still doesn't know what a business address is, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Patrick's arms are basically a character of their own, but otherwise he's doing pretty well, everything is canon right up until Singles Week, then shit hits the fan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-03-20 07:29:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18988069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therapychicken/pseuds/therapychicken
Summary: What would have happened if Patrick hadn't moved to Schitt's Creek during Season 3 and started working at Ray's? What if David had opened the store on his own, but was struggling because he had no idea how to fill out forms? What if everything else was exactly the same, except that Patrick shows up in Schitt's Creek for Singles Week about six months after breaking up with Rachel, looking for love- and not expecting to find it behind the counter at the local general, but very specific, store?





	1. Welcome to Singles Week!

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I had this particular brainwave while eating breakfast on the couch of my friend's apartment and I couldn't really say much because she's not into the show and so I just kind of squeed a lot and put it in a note on my phone and now I'm letting it blossom out. I'm going to go chapter by chapter and we'll see where it takes us.
> 
> For context, the premise here is that everything is the same except Patrick hasn't shown up yet. So David opens the store, but Patrick isn't involved, so a bunch of elements of it are kind of a disaster. There's still a dead body in the motel, Alexis still graduates from high school and college, Jocelyn is still pregnant, all that good stuff. Especially, Alexis is still in love with Ted, and she still makes Singles Week- and that's what ends up drawing Patrick in. However, starting with the beginning of S4E12 (Singles Week), the timeline starts changing up and anything can happen! Also, in this time line, Patrick and Rachel have been broken up for six months by the time Singles Week happens, which is probably too quick but then again since we have no idea what the actual time lines are on this show there is no real way of knowing. 
> 
> Please leave feedback! This is my first time attempting a multichapter story and I'd love to know what I'm doing wrong or right.

David elbowed the door open inelegantly, silently grateful that nobody was around to see him move that oddly shaped box in a _very_ unflattering way. He heaved it over the the counter with a grunt, muttering a not quite silent "fuck" under his breath when the corner of the box knocked down the display of lip balm. 

Stupid dog sweaters. Whatever had possessed him to agree to drop them off at Ted's... at least he didn't have to do it until tomorrow. Now that he was finding it nearly impossible to keep an assistant at the store for more than a week or two (those kids had kept stealing face products, Alexis had tried to request a clothing allowance as a "brand ambassador" for the store, and the only person who had responded to his want ad was Gwen, whose weird juju, David was pretty sure, had actually repelled customers from the store), and he was running out of bottles of wine to bribe Stevie with so that she'd cover for him when he went to pick up merchandise from his suppliers, David was spending far too much time at the store, frantically trying to make sure it all didn't fall apart, trying to decipher government forms and his abysmal bookkeeping, hoping that the very discomfiting results he was getting were due to his poor math skills rather than actual financial instability. He'd have to spend the whole day organizing this new display of, um, singles week products. 

It was a gift, really, knowing exactly what the average lonely guy or girl coming to a singles event in the middle of rural Canada would want. In reality, it was just a bunch of middle-aged lonely people looking for romance but happy to settle for a hookup or brief fling with whoever was available- which definitely was no problem for David's dad and Stevie, who had sold out the motel for the whole week and now had Roland up on a ladder trying to replace the lightbulbs in the No Vacancy sign. But in their imaginations, they'd want it to be something as close to that desired romance and intimacy as they could get, so for David, it meant a table full of organic, small-batch massage oils and hand creams and lubes with essential oils and herbs, and a 15% off discount for couples who came in to shop together. David was kind of banking on them being way too mortified to take advantage of the discount, because frankly he couldn't really afford it right now. 

David was never quite sure if that Mennonite couple who made the lavender massage oil knew exactly what kinds of sleazy, desperate hookups they'd likely be used for, but he was pretty sure that they were happy to get his money, and hey, more love in the world was always great. And, he mused as he turned all the labels on the display forward, the color was really beautiful, shining a pale iridescent purple.

Alexis had asked David if he was planning to join the festivities tomorrow, but David had pointed out that he actually had a business and a life and couldn't just go skedaddling off to some desperation party full of people with crow's feet and skanky Blouse Barn tops. Alexis had been insulted, and at first David had thought that it was just because of how much work she'd put into this ridiculous event- but now he was thinking that maybe she was actually planning to meet someone. Maybe this whole thing with Ted really was messing with her.

Fuck, he really was going to have to bring over those dog sweaters, wasn't he... Ted had better not be home.

He heard the bell ringing behind him and said over his shoulder, "Welcome to Rose Apothecary!" He was in no mood to make small talk with any customers right now. It was probably some forty-five year old woman with too much eye shadow on, furtively looking for condoms. Which he didn't even sell, because somehow there were no local small-batch artisan condom makers in this particular region of Ontario. 

So he was pretty surprised when suddenly he heard a voice behind him saying, "wow, I don't know what that is, but you're staring at it really hard so I'm guessing it must be a great product." The voice was male, for one thing, and soft and low and very slightly raspy, and David took a moment to appreciate how nice a voice it was. Then he turned around and saw the man, smiling warmly, peering around David to look at the lavender massage oil. David had been looking at it and watching the light shine on it, and he could see that the man was noticing that too, how the colors seemed to become brighter in the places where the sunlight touched. 

"It is a great product," David replied, "but to be fair to it, it's not there to be looked at so much as to be rubbed onto poor miserable lonely people's backs and arms and, um, I guess whatever other parts, so..." The man now had this smile on his face like David was being entertaining, which made David half insulted and half wondering why he had felt mildly flustered when talking to this particular man about rubbing massage oil into people's parts. 

He wasn't David's type at all. David didn't go for the clean cut type, who cut his brown hair in a buzz cut at the top of his head that nearly made him look bald, who was shorter than David, who had eyes that laughed in a way that made David unsure whether he was being mocked. True, that no-iron oxford shirt's sleeves were rolled up to reveal forearms that David could definitely appreciate, and those outlet-mall jeans were filled out nicely, but still, this guy was as straight as an uncooked spaghetti noodle and, David was slowly realizing, probably one of those singles event visitors who he had just been maligning. Shit. 

The man was still smiling that infuriating smile, and laughing at him in his crinkly brown eyes, and apparently David's face was as readable as a book with small words and big pictures because the man said, "yes, I am one of the poor miserable lonely people here for the singles event, very perceptive of you," with an air of playing along with some massive joke that David suddenly wanted in on but was beginning to suspect that he was actually unknowingly the center of.

"Oh, well, um, I'll be honest, I just don't really get it, you know?" And suddenly David was off and running, and there was still a tiny Waldorf and Statler in his brain commenting on how mortifying and cringy it would be when he was finished with this rant and this guy would be there awkwardly trying to extricate himself from David's weirdness and over-the-topness, but most of his brain just felt like he needed to vent this to this unassuming grinning Casual Friday straight man. "I mean, people are coming to Schitt's Creek to find love. Here! It's like a- a- a love desert here. And," he could see the man had started to chuckle at 'love desert' but suddenly snapped back into focus when David waved for his attention again, "it's just so fucking idealistic, thinking that you can go so far away from home just to go meet someone and it'll be anything but a few awkward group activities and a drunken hookup at the motel so that people can pretend that they're not lonely and sad, and then everyone going back to their prosaic little lives and forgetting they were ever here. Like, what even possesses people? Not just to, like come here to this fucking town on purpose, which is already kind of beyond belief, but to think that they're going to find love, whatever love is, and not just someone who's going to be fine for now and then it's on to the next thing. That just isn't how it  _goes._ And my airhead sister thinks that she can bring people together and make them fall in love, but really she just wants to get back with her two-time ex-fiance so she's projecting and desperate, and this whole thing is just a disaster waiting to happen and I don't understand why people are dumb enough to even try."

As David stopped talking he realized that he was breathing kind of hard and his voice had gone up about an octave and a half. Jesus, what was wrong with him. And the man was just listening, face turned toward him, small smile still on his lips, arms folded in front of him as he leaned back on the counter. Like he thought that what David said was fucking fascinating. 

The man smiled bigger again, like before. "Wow, there's a lot to unpack there, and I have about six hundred questions, but first things first." He straightened up from his pose on the counter and held out his hand. "Patrick Brewer. Very nice to meet you, and of course listen to your very interesting opinions." And that last bit was very obviously joking, but David could see the man's- Patrick's- face shift a bit, now expectant. 

David extended his own hand and shook Patrick's. His hand was warm and just a bit rough, not like someone who worked with his hands, but more like someone who didn't moisturize like he should. His handshake was firm and strong. "I'm David," he replied. "David Rose. This is my store. Rose Apothecary. You should moisturize, by the way." 

DAMN IT. What was he even saying anymore. He closed his eyes and groaned like a dying cow, which he then immediately realized probably wasn't helping.

But Patrick suddenly smiled big, grinning as though David was a one-man show written for his amusement. "Wow," he said with that big shit-eating grin, "great segue. I assume you have some hand-crafted and flower-scented hand creams you can sell me to fix that problem." 

David shook his head frantically. "No, no, no. Well, yes, I do, and they're really great for skin like yours, which is- you know- it's not that bad! It's just that we all need to practice self-care and soft hands are just one of life's simplest pleasures. Anyway, and we'll forget that this all ever happened, but Patrick, I am definitely very sorry that I subjected you to all that. If you want to shop, or honestly just to leave, without me verbally accosting you like that, I will not be offended at all. Um."

Patrick began to extricate his hand from David's, and that was when David realized that he had been  _holding Patrick's hand_ that whole time, and that now that it was being gently disengaged something about him felt a bit empty. For a second David began to panic that Patrick would, in fact, leave- what was with him, that he was that afraid that a random guy who he hadn't known five minutes ago would leave his store?- but then he saw Patrick just refold up those solid forearms and lean back against that counter in a way that just seemed really inviting, all of a sudden. What the fuck was happening? 

"I am definitely not sorry to have been subjected to that," Patrick said with that smile again, and David could feel his own eyebrows rising in mortified bewilderment and his mouth smiling weirdly. He could see Patrick's smile widening again at the sight of David's weird face. "Please, tell me more about how this place is a love desert and how your sister has a two-time ex-fiance and what kinds of very interesting products you sell in this store." 

And he leaned back expectantly, and David was still thinking,  _what the fuck is happening_. But suddenly he never wanted it to stop. 


	2. Here's My Card

They'd been talking for twenty-five minutes already. Twenty-five minutes. It's not like it was the first time David had spent a long time talking with a customer; on a daily basis he could spend a half hour talking and half-flirting with customers, upselling them and showing them why organic honey was definitely worth the price. It was one of the parts of owning the store that he was actually good at and enjoyed, and made him feel like he'd made the right decision in opening Rose Apothecary in the first place. He usually completely let go of that feeling every day after closing when he thought about his budget and his profit margins and the jumble of documents in the stockroom that he hid under a stylish hand-knitted alpaca afghan so that he wouldn't have to look at it. 

But now, now he'd been sitting for twenty-five minutes talking with this Patrick Brewer person, who had thus far showed absolutely no indication that he planned to buy a thing, and David was actively hoping that he wouldn't remember what it was that he'd come in for because that would make it more likely that he'd just take it, pay for it and leave. And that would be a fucking tragedy. 

It was to the point that as customers had started coming in, a couple regulars and a few others who had that faintly nervy and desperate look that David had always mentally associated with the Singles Week people (and which Patrick didn't have  _at all_ ), the two of them had just kept talking, and Patrick had just stood by the cash register listening to David just keep on about the merits of eucalyptus undereye serum and Alexis and Ted's disaster of a relationship history as David rang the customers up. (David had included a line about how "being a two-time ex-fiance is like being a two-time Oscar nominee if the statuette were an annoying airhead that didn't clean up after itself" and the peal of genuine laughter that came from Patrick in response had made David feel ridiculously proud of himself.) Now David was expounding on the evils of running a small business. 

"I mean, all those little details! And the numbers!" he was ranting slightly louder than was probably necessary. "Trust me, I am  _perfectly_ capable of designing display areas and upselling middle-aged women who hadn't realized that they needed a, a, hand-knitted alpaca sweater or whatever. But it's these other things that are just killing me over here. Like, I knew that opening the store would cost me money, but I ended up wiping out all of my start up money on way too much product. I was such a mess at the opening that I didn't realize until right before that I'd forgotten to call the electrician to hook up the lights, so I had to pretend that the dark room provided ambiance, which it totally did in the end, by the way. All of my bills are on automatic pay connected to my credit cards because otherwise I'll totally forget to pay them, even though at the moment I'm only affording the minimum payment. And I don't know why I'm telling you all of this, it is definitely too much information, and I sound like a complete idiot." Holy fuck, this was mortifying. This very straight-laced looking guy was just giving him a look, like he'd been absorbed in this whole thing and not just sneering at David's complete inability to manage his own business.

"Yeah, that does sound like it's been a rough go," Patrick said, and he wasn't exactly smiling anymore. David wasn't sure whether this was a good thing or not, because it wasn't like he was recoiling in horror, just considering everything silently. 

"Well, yes, it has."

Patrick kept on just looking at him, and David hadn't felt so tense in his entire life, so desperate to know what another person was going to say to him, to say about him. "Well, frankly," Patrick said finally, "I'm very impressed that you've even made it this far, given that you said this is your first time starting a business." And he was smiling again, the kind of warm smile that made David feel proud of himself, like he'd done something right and won Patrick's approval. It shouldn't have mattered to him nearly as much as it did, considering that they'd known each other for about half an hour, but fuck it mattered so much. "Your business model seems pretty sustainable, if a bit rough around the edges. Though you do need help. You need a lot of help."

"All right!" David retorted, not sure whether he felt stung by the digs or thrilled by Patrick's praise. "And what do you know about businesses, exactly, that you're all up in mine and telling me I need help, Patrick Brewer?" He hoped that the sideways smile on his face was enough to tell Patrick that he wasn't actually upset, but not enough to reveal how absolutely giddy with excitement this whole thing was making him, for some reason. He'd had a lot of discussions with a lot of people about this business, with all kinds of people, and he'd had a whole range of emotions while doing so, but he'd never felt as  _on fire_ as he did at that exact moment. 

Patrick smirked. "Well, I did spend ten years working for my hometown's chamber of commerce. I literally helped people with their businesses for a living. But if you don't want anyone all 'up in your business,' then maybe I shouldn't offer to sit down with you and help go through all of your paperwork." He looked up at David- and yeah, he was shorter than David, wasn't he, that was interesting- and still had that tiny smirk playing on his lips, his excellent arms folded in front of him, like he was waiting for David to zing back. 

And David wanted to so badly, but he also just really wanted someone to help him with that stack of paperwork under the blanket and at the bottom of the box of toilet plungers and in the cabinet above the bathroom sink, and so he didn't want to risk saying the wrong thing, Patrick walking away after. That couldn't happen. "Um," David responded a bit more quietly than he'd expected  himself to, "that's very sweet of you. You obviously know from, like, literally everything I've just told you that I can't pay you anything."

"Yeah, I didn't think so," Patrick said with a slightly surprised smile, almost sweet. "Think of it like a free consultation for a friend. Here," and he reached into his pocket and took out his wallet, "this is my card, call me later and let me know if there's a good time for me to come over and do this. The event thing doesn't start until tomorrow and all, and frankly this town's local TV channels stink, and I need something to do, so." He proffered the card casually, and David gingerly took it with two fingers. 

"Thank you," David said, slipping the card into his pocket. "I'll give you a call later, after I close the store for the day." He smiled small, and Patrick did too, but Patrick's smile was slowly growing bigger. 

"Sounds perfect." And Patrick took a step back, and began to turn around, and it looked like he was about to walk away. "It was great to meet you, David," he said smoothly with a flash of a grin. 

David smiled back, bigger than he could remember in a long time. "And you too," he replied. And with a jingle of the bell, Patrick was gone. 

The store suddenly felt cavernously empty, even though there were two customers browsing the scented candles in the back. It suddenly occurred to David that Patrick hadn't bought anything in the end, which was weird because he must have come into the store for a reason in the first place, and he had a momentary impulse to run after him. But it was probably too late, and it would make David look like a psycho. 

David just couldn't remember the last time he'd had a morning like this. Talking to someone who set him off like that, who made him smile like that, who could both dish it out and take it like that, who had a mocking grin like that... their whole conversation had been  _fun_ in a way he hadn't experienced in a while, snappy and vibrant, and sometimes it had felt like he was feeling sparks. If Patrick hadn't been the kind of straight and straight-laced nerd who carried around a wallet full of business cards and went to extremely heterosexual singles events, David might have misread the situation as them, well, flirting. 

Thinking back through their conversation, though, David could  _definitely_ think of a few times that it had really seemed flirty, and he was kind of shocked to realize that they largely had come from him. Like, calling him "Patrick Brewer," by his full name, while making fun of him about something? That was absolutely a trick he would have used in a nightclub back in the day, or even at the trucker bar a few months ago. If that were the sort of thing he did anymore. Had he really been flirting with Patrick? Straight as a pencil Patrick? Business casual, buzz-cut hair Patrick? The idea made him feel kind of queasy, like he really wanted it but knew it would be bad for him. Patrick had responded, but maybe that was just the way that he was? 

Suddenly David wanted to know exactly the way that Patrick was. This was only partly out of guilt for the fact that, now that he was rewinding the last 45 minutes, David had done a good 87% of the talking, and Patrick had said almost nothing about himself. What the fuck was a guy like him doing at an event like this? What had happened to his job at the chamber of commerce? Where was he from, what movies did he like, what would make him smile more like he'd been doing just now?

And David shook his head quickly like a wet retriever, because this was getting way too weird, too much. He'd see Patrick later, to work on his papers, that was all. 

 


	3. Mr Rogers Says Hi

At around dinnertime Stevie came in, bringing David's usual double cheeseburger from the cafe and reaching over to grab herself a pomegranate juice from the store cooler. 

"Stevie, you know that those bar codes on the bottles aren't there for decoration, right? They're so I can scan them, and then tell you how much the thing costs, and then you can give me that amount of money." Even as he said it David knew that he didn't have much of a leg to stand on, and sure enough Stevie just pointed to the burger and gave a falsely innocent thumbs up. Fuck, he should just start tipping her for delivery and see if that would stop this steady stream of thieving from his stock.

Sadly, the equivalent way to get his mom to stop slipping cuticle oil down her boot legs would have to be paying her back for that beachside lodge in Belize that one of his coked-up exes had burned down, and he couldn't deal with yet another massive amount of money on his credit card.  

Stevie took a seat on the counter and took a long pull from her juice. "So, am I going to see you later at the motel to help put together the welcome packages for Singles Week? Apparently Alexis is not taking no for an answer, and also apparently part of my job description, at the motel that I actually own, is to help my business partner's daughter with her ridiculous projects during my off time."

"Well, you know Alexis, she has a degree in pubic relations and wants to use it, so it's our duty to support her."

Stevie snorted. "Yep, it's pretty ridiculous, but it's actually sort of sweet to see her excited about something lately that isn't Ted." She gave a small shudder as she screwed the cap back on her juice. "Ever since she said... the thing to him she's just been manically obsessed with this whole event. Like she's channeling all of those feelings or whatever." She plopped the juice back on the counter and turned to David expectantly. "So, are you going to be there?"

David stiffened. "Actually, no," he answered, trying his best to remain off-hand and casual, without really understanding why that was so important. "I'm going to be here in the store, working on some business stuff."

"Aha." Stevie nodded knowingly. "A decent excuse, but not a very good one. You and I both know that you'd rather do basically anything rather than work on business stuff, even if that 'anything' is putting little schedules and packets of mints into 75 canvas tote bags with your mother and sister. What are you actually going to be doing?" She narrowed her eyes at him mock-accusingly. She seemed genuinely curious, and for some reason David felt on edge, on the defensive. 

"I am actually going to be working on business stuff. I happen to have a professional business consultant coming in to help out after closing. He's going to go through my plan and my forms and all that stuff and show me how to do it better. It's a big deal." 

Suddenly Stevie was staring at him as though in shock. "Wait, you're for real? You have a professional business consultant coming in? Which lottery did you win? You're going to make a college fund for my future children, right?"

"He's coming in for free, as a favor," David said through gritted teeth. He could feel his face growing flushed, and determinedly didn't think about why that might be. There was nothing about this guy who could possibly make him feel  _flushed._ Like, he'd been attractive in the way that, like, anyone could be attractive- David had liked his arms and his neck and the way his pants fit- but there was nothing that had made him different than any of the other attractive people who could, theoretically, walk into the store. Just his laugh, like David was ridiculous and it was the best thing he'd ever seen. And the way he'd listened to every idiotic word that had poured out of David's mouth. And the way he'd teased him and lit up like a Christmas tree when David had volleyed back, and the way David had immediately wondered what else would make this Patrick guy light up like that. 

So yeah, no reason at all why he'd be feeling flushed, thinking of this totally random guy. Who was coming in- David checked his phone to see what time he'd said in the text- fifteen minutes to help him rescue this motherfucking store from implosion. Stevie had better be long gone by then, because otherwise-

And yes, otherwise Stevie will look like her birthday and 4/20 have just rolled up into one and come early. Like she was just doing now. Shit. "He's coming in for  _free_? As a  _favor_? How absolutely fascinating. What did you do to get him to agree to this, blow him in the back room?" 

"Jesus, Stevie." David could FEEL his ears burn red. "We had a totally normal conversation at the  _front_ of the store, and then  _he_ offered to help  _me._ Plus, he's straight anyway, so. That's not going to happen." 

He could feel himself cringing as he looked up and- of course, Stevie was still grinning like an axe-wielding lunatic. "But you  _want_ it to happen. You  _want_ to blow him. You want to _fuck_ him. This is the best thing I've ever heard, and I just heard that Roland is taking the week off away from the motel so that he can be with Jocelyn when she goes into labor." 

"Stevie, he is a normal guy who came in for Singles Week who's bored, or something, and decided that apparently it's fun to help random strangers with their spreadsheets. It's totally normal, and he seems cool, even though he wears department store jeans and looks like his mother cuts his hair with a Number 2 setting, and I'm not sure what you don't understand about that."

"Actually, I completely understand. I think you're just horny," Stevie replied casually. David nearly choked on his mint lemonade. 

"Excuse you, what the fuck, I'm not  _just horny_." He glared at Stevie who just looked like she was trying not to break out the full smug grin. "This guy offered to help, which is a nice thing to do, and I'm looking forward to it. That's all."

Stevie let the full smirk fly. "I notice you said that you weren't  _just_  horny. Which means that you definitely are at least somewhat horny. Honestly, if it's gotten so bad that you're thinking of trying to seduce buttoned-up straight guys with buzz cuts and department store jeans, you should just call Jake. You know he'll be totally up for it."

"Yes, Stevie, of course I know he'd be totally up for it. He has propositioned me every time he's seen me since that time I... walked in on you guys. An experience that it will take a lifetime for me to bleach out of my brain, by the way. I mean, having sex in my clothes closet? How could you?"

Stevie rolled her eyes as she retorted, "that's not a clothes closet, that is an actual motel room that out of the goodness of my heart I allow you to keep your ridiculously pricy and ludicrous clothes in. And you know perfectly well that that's a room that I have sex in, or do you not remember staring at your own naked reflection in the ceiling mirror."

And eeegh. Touche, that hurt. David didn't even try to hide his slight nausea at the memory. "That mirror made me look like I was fifty years old and jaundiced. And with no offense intended, the whole memory is not one that I especially enjoy revisiting. Sounds like that room is now your 'regrettable hookups' room?" 

"Yeah, that sounds about right," Stevie bitched back. "Also, Jake's not so bad. Only half the times that's he's approached you have actually been for a threesome. And at least he's not Sebastien."

And okayyy, now would be a  _great_ time to end this particular conversation. "You know perfectly well that I did not sleep with Sebastien because I was  _horny_. And that train has absofuckinglutely left the station, and he, you and I all know it, so never mention that name to me ever again, please and thank you."

To her credit, Stevie did look abashed, like she knew she'd gone too far. She muttered a quick "sorry" and leaned forward on the counter, picking up a tube of aloe-scented hand cream that David had just gotten in from a new supplier. In about six seconds that would be casually slipped in her pants pocket if David didn't restart the conversation, and he knew it.

So he gave a bit of a cough and Stevie dropped the tube guiltily from where she'd completely unsuspiciously had it suspended over the edge of the counter, en route to her jeans. "Um, don't you have anything else you need to be doing besides transparently attempting to pilfer my merchandise? I thought Alexis needs you for those goody bags. Maybe you should go over there and help distract her from T-E-D."  _Please leave, please leave, Patrick will be here in six minutes and he absolutely cannot see you_ , David was silently praying, and-

Damn it. Stevie knew him too well. She was suspicious. "First of all, using 'pilfer' in a sentence, please tell me that your mother isn't contagious because that's seriously scary. Secondly, I'm getting a distinct vibe that you may be trying to get rid of me." She stopped and stared at David accusingly, and David just  _knew_ he was cringing under that look, he could just feel himself doing it and hated himself for it. "You are definitely trying to get rid of me, which means that this business guy is probably coming now, and- oh my god." 

Her eyes widened, but not the way they had before- her face was more full of a kind of ecstatic shock. Like someone had balled up her birthday and 4/20 and hit her over the head with it. "You're actually into this guy. You don't just want to fuck him, you want to _date_ him. This is so cute that I think that I'm going to barf."

Stevie had no idea what she was talking about, he was  _not_ into Patrick. "You have no idea what you're talking about," David said in a tone that was meant to sound firm but actually seemed to be coming out a bit whiny, like he was throwing a tantrum, and he could just see Stevie's smile growing wider like the Cheshire Cat's. "I am not into Patrick." He was not into Patrick. He didn't want to date Patrick. He didn't want to take him to a nice restaurant that he couldn't afford, talk with him about anything and everything, tease him about his entree choices, at the end of the night find out if those lips were as soft as they looked- 

"Ah, so his name's Patrick, is it. Great name. 'You're so gorgeous, Patrick.' 'Kiss me, Patrick.' 'Oh God, fuck me, Patrick.' It's very manly but not too over-the-top butch, and it even has some nickname potential. Like Ricky, or Pat- do you think you're going to end up calling him Pat? That could be kind of cute." 

“We're not doing Pat. And look,” David said exasperatedly (and not a little red-facedly, because that "fuck me Patrick" had gone just a tiny bit overboard, if you asked him, what was wrong with her) to Stevie, who was looking far too smug for her own good. This was getting absolutely ridiculous already. “Even if I _was_ into him, which again I very much am not, I told you, Patrick is straight. He’s as straight as Gwyneth Paltrow’s hair. He’s like, he’s like Mr Rogers, is how straight he is. He’s basically Mr Rogers.”

“Uh huh,” Stevie said with that disgusting smirk on her face. “Funny you should bring that up, because I totally heard that Mr Rogers was bi, so.”

“Fucking excuse me, no he was not,” David said sharply. “Don’t joke about things like that to me, it’s not funny.”

“No, I’m actually serious,” she responded casually. “It was all over Twitter. Apparently it was in his biography."

Stevie had to be fucking with him. No way she wasn't fucking with him. Like, everyone used to say that Mr Rogers killed loads of people in Vietnam, right? And that was a lie. This had to be a lie too, because if it were true that would just be too much. But- "Whatever, that isn't the point, the point is, the point is that I'm not into Patrick, and oh God he is crossing the street now and he has a  _pizza_ so I need you to leave immediately."

Stevie nimbly grabbed her juice and a tube of hand cream as David steered her toward the door. "Ah, a pizza. I understand now. I'll get out of your way so you can enjoy your  _date_." She was grinning madly, and David slightly wanted to punch her in the teeth. 

"It's not a-" and suddenly he stopped talking, because the bell had rung and Patrick's back was against the door as he tried to balance the pizza in his hands while entering the store, and David ran like the floor was lava to go and open the door for him. And shit, Stevie was just looking Patrick over, and looking back at David like she'd just learned something new about him and it was something hilarious. It was not hilarious. "Hi, Patrick, thank you so much for coming. Stevie was  _just leaving,_ she's in a  _big hurry_ and  _really has to get going_ -" And he was practically pushing her out the door, but without making it seem like he was pushing her out the door, because Patrick was right there- Patrick was  _right there_ \- and David didn't exactly think that that was the kind of behavior that gave the best impression. Of a business owner. But Patrick was smiling so far, smiling and holding that pizza.

Stevie finally stepped out the door, and to David's relief actually seemed like she might be walking away, until she turned her head back so that she was looking over at David in the doorway of his store and yelled, "Mr Rogers says hi!" And then she fucking strolled away calmly, like she  _knew_ that David wouldn't yell curses out at her in front of Patrick. 

Damn it, Patrick. David swivelled around and somehow it seemed that Patrick wasn't just still smiling, but that his smile was maybe a little bit bigger than it had been before.  "You know Mr Rogers has been dead for fifteen years, right...?" The side of his mouth quirked.

"And I miss him every day," David shot back, but he could feel his crooked smile growing. Patrick's grin was incandescent. "And it's really good to see you, Patrick."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Below is a link to Snopes on the question of Mr Rogers's potential bisexuality. The point here isn't whether he was or he wasn't or what label to put on him- it's more about the way that the idea that he might be relates to the characters here.  
> https://www.snopes.com/news/2019/04/10/mr-rogers-sexuality/


	4. Mary Poppins-ing

"So here's the situation," Patrick said finally, surgically neat stacks of papers arrayed on the floor in front of him. "Honestly, I'm shocked at how well you're doing here."

"Um, thank you? For that clear and unambiguous show of support? It really means a lot."

Patrick just looked up at him and smiled with this little incredulous smirk on his face that made David feel slightly cut open for display. "You're very welcome. What I meant to say is that it's really amazing how well the store has been doing, considering that you didn't have any business experience. You must have been a fast learner to have figured out everything that you needed to do to set this business up, even if keeping it going is a bit challenging."

Oh god, does Patrick think that David did all of this? Maybe Patrick came here thinking that this was going to be an easy quick fix, that David's business couldn't possibly be in as bad shape as it is, that David really does have the experience to get all these stupid fucking permit renewals done. Like, on the one hand it was flattering, that Patrick looked at him and saw someone capable enough to do something like this on his own rather than a ditzy ex-playboy who has never had a real job in his life. This is a disaster. Patrick’s going to _leave_ after tonight and not come back. To help him with more papers. Fuck.

“Well, if I can be really honest with you, I didn’t… actually do most of this stuff. So far, I’ve been messing with a lot of things, and there’s a lot of stuff here that got done in the first place but there’s no way I can replicate, so I don’t know what this paperwork indicated to you, but there is nothing amazing about any of this, none of it, and I haven’t learned half of what it might look like I did, so I need serious help.” David let out a breath.

Patrick’s only real reaction to this was a slightly raised eyebrow and a quirk of his lips, like maybe he’d actually kind of been expecting to hear something along those lines from him. “Well,” he replied, “if we’re being honest with each other now, I kind of figured all of that? I was just using a line from my chamber of commerce job. You know, customer service thing, you always want to make people feel better about themselves and what they’re doing. But apparently we’re _honest_ with each other, so you get the unvarnished truth.” 

God, the unvarnished truth. On second thought, that chamber of commerce line had been nice. He shouldn’t have said anything. David waited with bated breath for the unvarnished truth.

Patrick’s eyes twinkled, like he was enjoying watching David’s nervous twitching, but then he settled into a more businesslike tone. “The unvarnished truth is that you’re still doing pretty well. Maybe not amazing, and you need to do some reorganizing and get on top of your paperwork, and you may need to reconsider aspects of your supply chain in order to become more cost effective, but seeing as we are being honest with each other, you’re still doing a lot better than I expected based on, um, some of what you were saying earlier.” 

Oh right. Fuck. Basically every deep dark dirty business secret David possessed had already come spilling out of him hours ago, as they'd been lounging around the store, triggered by the shocking realization that there was someone interested in listening. 

"But anyway, you said that you didn’t actually do most of this stuff- so how exactly did it get done last time?"

"Oh," said David in a tone that he hoped sounded nonchalant, like this was totally normal and not the move of a desperate man who has just realized that he’s blown a few grand on first and last month’s rent and needs to to SOMETHING with it now, "I just threw a bunch of money at Ray and asked him to do it all for me. I gave him my dream journal and he did the rest."

"Your dream journal." Patrick had that look on his face like David was a one-man comedy show, or- or like a magician, unexpectedly pulling colorful scarves out of different places, like it was a different surprise every time, and it was weird that he was still shocked and apparently entertained by it each time, that it hadn’t gotten stale and irritating to him yet. "And why, David, did you give him your dream journal?"

David sighed. "Because it's also my, um, weed journal, and I discovered that I had a lot more clarity about what exactly I wanted to do when I was high, so I ended up with a lot of relevant information in the margins. Ray did say that he found my dream about riding unicorns with Michelle Obama to be, as he said, 'lots of fun, and proof of a very interesting imagination!'"

Patrick laughed for real now, and David was honestly not sure whether it was he felt smug about how he was the one who made Patrick do that or miffed that it was because Patrick was laughing at him. Weirdly, it didn't feel so much like it mattered anymore- it was like, even if Patrick was laughing at him, it wasn't mocking, it was like David was in on the joke. He didn't make David feel silly at all for those weird things he did, the way some of his old friends back in New York had, or even the way that his family still often did. It was like David's oddities delighted him.

"So," said Patrick when his laughter had begun to die down, "I was wondering, and this is just a hunch, but did Ray by any chance give you some kind of a bulk discount for filling out these forms?"

"Um. Yes. How did you know that?" David frantically began trying to remember what he'd done back then, a year before, what Ray had told him. What had he screwed up? "Was I not supposed to do that?"

"Well, at the end of the day it doesn't really matter, because all the right forms and permits are here and approved," Patrick responded with a smirk, "but I'd had a hunch because- well, I had been wondering why you also have certification to house and care for small animals up to 15 kg. And to sell tobacco and tobacco products, which I'm pretty sure you just told me are not part of your 'life-affirming business model.' And," Patrick shuffled a few papers around, "apparently to use this building for a daycare facility?"

David could feel his mouth dropping open. "Ew! Oh my god no! No children here! Or small animals. The only trace of any small animals that should be in this store should be in the form of those cat hair scarves." Patrick was doing that shit-eating grin at him from across the floor, as though these perfectly rational things David is saying are somehow more entertaining than when he’s actually making jokes, and it should annoy him more than it does, it really should. Then it occurs to him, "wait, do you think Ray ripped me off?"

"Well, I don't know Ray, so it's hard to tell whether he's crooked or just kind of weird, but from his dream journal comment I'm going to assume the second option and that he meant well. On the plus side, though, you also seem to have a liquor license, which would be nice if you ever want to host any events in the store after hours. Like an open mic night, or something."

An open mic night or something. Clearly this Patrick character was out of his fucking mind.

 

Even now, four hours in, David was having some trouble trying to figure out how things had gotten this... fun. Like, this was a business thing, it shouldn't have been fun, but still, David could honestly claim to be enjoying himself now as he made a token effort at chronologically ordering his invoices and Patrick puzzled through last spring's tax returns. But at the beginning, David had mostly been sitting crosslegged, eating that delicious, delicious pizza and tensely watching Patrick leaf through files, add up numbers, read the fine print on forms that David couldn't even remember having filled out. At first, he had just sat and watched anxiously, keyed up for Patrick to start yelling at him, calling him stupid and his business a failure, the proof of his idiocy spread out before him... but as the minutes went on and that didn't happen, soon David was scarfing down pizza casually and tossing spice packets at Patrick every time he criticized David's handwriting or whatever, and noticing little things like those gross rubbery finger things that apparently helped Patrick turn the pages faster (David was skeptical), and how Patrick turned all of the papers a bit to the left as he read them, and how that little furrow above Patrick's eyes as he squinted, trying to decipher David's handwriting, was actually kind of adorable.

David froze. He'd just said that that was adorable. This wasn't supposed to happen. It would have been okay if he'd said that Patrick's broad shoulders were hot, because they were, and Stevie was right that he was just a little bit horny and not above admiring these sorts of things in a man who was helping him with business stuff. He could have even seen himself saying that Patrick was cute, because he was. Not David's type- at least, not his usual type- but empirically cute nonetheless. 

But saying that some random furrowing of the brow was adorable- that was too much already. There was nothing erotic or sexy or _objective_ about eyebrow furrows. David found Patrick's forehead furrow _adorable_ because he thought that Patrick's concentration was adorable, his intensity, his good nature and helpfulness. Which were things about Patrick's _personality._ Which meant _feelings._

It couldn't be feelings, or even feelings-adjacent, though. He barely knew Patrick. They'd met about eight hours ago. Probably- probably eyebrow furrows were super hot, everyone knew that except David, who had missed that page of Major Lady magazine because someone had closed it stuck with chewing gum in 1995. Almost definitely. Nothing to do with- implications or whatever. 

It's not like he'd admit to himself that actually, those little rubber things were kind of cute too, at least on those fingers. 

 

“Okay, so on the list: you need to get TurboTax for your next tax season, because that accountant you’re using in Elmdale is bleeding you dry. QuickBooks might be a good idea too, seeing as you’re not super computer literate and it basically does a lot of the work for you, though honestly I’ve found that you can do a lot of what you need to do for free on Excel if you’re organized and very familiar with the software. But I assume that you don’t really know Excel…?”

Wait, he did know this, maybe. “Of course I know Excel,” David retorted with a hopefully convincing affronted glare. “I use Excel all the time. It’s the one with the page full of squares. And you type all of your numbers into the squares in columns.”

“Good God,” muttered Patrick.

“And then you have a whole page full of squares with numbers in them. I haven’t figured out what the point is, but I do have them. I make little lists sometimes.”

“Good God Almighty,” Patrick repeated. “Okay, first thing we’re going to do, we are going to sit down and I am going to teach you what an Excel formula is. Still might be a good idea to get Quickbooks,  but by the end of this week you WILL know how to write an Excel formula, if I accomplish nothing else here.”

Hold up, hold up- "You mean you'll be able to help me out for a whole week?" Because Patrick hadn't said he'd do that, he'd only said he was coming by tonight, and David had just been hoping-

"Well," said Patrick reasonably, "it shouldn't be that surprising. I mean- I came here for a program called Singles WEEK, remember?"

A fair point, but it brought up other questions. Because, "yeah, that's another question I've had about this whole ridiculous event," David responded in a tone that was probably slightly too heated but he didn't care much, and cared even less when he saw Patrick smile slightly as he perked up to listen. "I mean, who makes a singles' event that lasts a whole week? Don't people have jobs? Who's available for a whole week? Do people come here and say, yes, I've always wanted to meet fellow unemployed people with nothing going on on a Wednesday? I mean," and David made a slight verbal u-turn, because he was just realizing that he was totally insulting Patrick right then, even though Patrick if anything seemed even more benignly amused, "except you, because with all of the stuff you did today I'm prepared to accept that you're a- a- an entrepreneurial prodigy who made a billion dollars and retired when he was twenty-five, or something. And now you go around Mary Poppins-ing people's businesses. Those women who spend their days cleaning up after their 47 cats are going to be chasing the hell out of you, that's for sure."

Patrick laughed again, with David breathing in a sigh of relief that he hadn’t completely alienated this guy, because, of course, he was the only chance David had of preserving this business, and for no other reason. "Yeah, no, not exactly Mary Poppins here, and very definitely not a billionaire, sorry to disappoint you," he said with a smile. "Actually, I am in fact technically unemployed as of two days ago. I quit that job at the Chamber of Commerce."

"So that you could go to a shitty singles event?!" Maybe this guy wasn't quite as intelligent as David thought, or just had the worst taste in the world...

"Well, I mean, it was in a place called Schitt's Creek! I couldn't not go!"

Worst taste in the world, then, it was official. David rolled his eyes. "God, you should talk to my dad about that," he groaned. "He had, um, very similar feelings about this place at one time."

"Sounds like one hell of a guy," Patrick replied with a smirk, obviously seeing how disgusted David was at this particular manifestation of a very dubious and juvenile sense of humor. Well, all hot guys (and yes, David would admit to himself that Patrick was a hot guy, fine) have to have some major flaw. David considered that his own major flaw was that his lips chapped, like, a crazy amount, or maybe that he was prone to terrible relationships and had the self-esteem and self-preservation instincts of a flea. Which one it was depended on the day. But Patrick's definitely seemed to be his taste in humor, if he was going to laugh at Schitt's Creek's name or when David made very serious comments about how anyone who believed that fruit was a positive addition to chocolate should rethink all of their life decisions. If he was going to keep laughing at this kind of thing the whole week-

But maybe he wouldn't be. "Actually," David pointed out slowly, and (hopefully not obviously) slightly reluctantly, "you know you probably won't be hanging around here the whole week, even if you did quit your job to visit a scatologically-named town."

Patrick gave David a quizzical look, his brow furrowed and his eyes clear and brown and staring at him like he was wondering if David thought he was a liar, or was trying to push him out, which- god no. "Why don't you think I'll stay? I told you I would," he said, with a tone in his voice like he was almost hurt that David would doubt him.

"Oh, no, no," David hurried to reassure him. "I just meant- for all my cynicism, you are here for a singles event, and you're a nice, attractive, stable guy, so you'll probably meet a single and you'll hit it off and want to take said single out on a date or something... I highly doubt that helping a random dude with his store is going to be a priority at that stage, you know?" And Patrick probably would meet someone, that one nice girl who would come to something like this in the midst of all of the (he was imagining it, but very sure about his imaginings) lonely middle aged basement dwellers who would be the bulk of the Singles Week participants. Their eyes would meet across the room, they'd hit it off, they'd go back somewhere and make out and have sex and get lost in each other, and Patrick would totally forget about this random guy whose store he walked into, except for when he wanted to come in to buy lube or something. To use on this imaginary girl. That would be fun.

"David, I keep my word." Patrick didn't look insulted anymore, exactly, but more like he wanted to make sure David understood something, and he'd gone weirdly soft in his seriousness. Also slightly pink when David had mentioned that he was attractive, which David was trying really hard not to read into. "I told you I'll come back and help, and that means I will. Singles or no singles."

He keeps his word. Specifically, the word that he just made to David, which was apparently more important than the actual event he apparently quit his job and came into town for. Well. David didn't want to actually get emotional in front of a guy he'd known for twelve hours and blow this whole thing out of proportion, so he gave Patrick a wry smile instead. "Doesn't seem like a great way to meet girls," he offered lamely.

He'd expected Patrick to laugh again (see, no sense of humor), and he did, but there was something funny in his look- sort of right past David and directly at him at the same time- as he replied, "no, not exactly a great way to meet girls."

Hm.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay! Life has been WEIRD.
> 
> Please comment and let me know what you think!


End file.
